


I Wanna Sit You Where My Face At

by latinaeinstein (oneforyourfire)



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: 69 (Sex Position), Face-Sitting, M/M, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-11
Updated: 2019-01-11
Packaged: 2019-10-08 07:47:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17382584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oneforyourfire/pseuds/latinaeinstein
Summary: In which Sehun asks, Jongdae indulges





	I Wanna Sit You Where My Face At

**Author's Note:**

> 2014 fic

Sehun just has to ask, Jongdae is always reassuring him, terribly, patronizingly fond, words drawled and smug. "Ask, and I shall deliver. You're my favorite of the maknaes, you know. My Sehunnie.” The statement is usually punctuated with a lingering kiss on the sharp jut of Sehun’s jaw, a soothing pat on Sehun’s ass, Jongdae on his tiptoes to muss up Sehun’s hair.

Jongdae is snark belied by kindness, bite undercut with love, tempered sharpness, tenderness beneath. He’s disgustingly proud, distressingly affectionate. Indulgent. Safe, soft, but sharp, too.

The last to join, Jongdae wasn’t there for Sehun’s more painful growth spurts, voice cracks, acne flares, accidental boners. And Sehun isn’t a kid, hasn’t been for a while. And Jongdae sees that. Praises and wants and uses that. He only babies when Sehun needs, when he asks. Jongdae likes babying, likes giving.

So Sehun is always asking and Jongdae is always indulging and maybe it’s almost love. Maybe, almost, at least on Sehun’s end. But maybe, maybe for Jongdae, too.

And there’s possessive appraising in the grip of Jongdae’s fingers, appreciative hums, kitten smirks with curled lips, crinkled eyes. Pressed tight to Sehun’s collarbone, his shoulder. His thighs, his stomach, his cock, when they’re alone.

What they have is a confusing, beautiful, clumsy thing. Saturdays, Sundays, quiet shuffles in hotel rooms, the occasional quickie pick-me-up in storage closets, dance rooms after hours.

“Want me?” Jongdae used to laugh, every time they kissed, touched, fucked. “Think you can have me?” Biting, hot, husky. But he’s softened since then. Now, Sehun is only urged to ask, enthusiastic, pink faced, for all the exquisite wonders that Jongdae promises, delivers.

Jongdae’s been many firsts. First extended make out. First blowjob. First fuck. First _boyfriend_ , maybe, Sehun thinks. And maybe Jongdae can be the first of this, too. Sehun’s been wanting, has stolen Jongin’s laptop, wadded tshirt shoved into his mouth, shoved his hand down his pajama pants to indulge and explore this particular want, test the limits of their arrangement.

Sehun only has to ask. Is _encouraged_ to.

So Monday night, Sehun does. Or rather, hesitates to undertake the endeavor, leaning heavily against the pillows at Jongdae’s side. Sehun taps his fingers against his denimed thigh, reaches for another fistful of popcorn. He studies the contours of Jongdae’s profile, goes over the words.

“Take a picture,” Jongdae trills, teasing, turning. And his smile is sharp in the television set’s neon blue glow, eyebrows raised, mirth glittering in his eyes.

“Hyung,” Sehun says slowly, quietly. “I wanted to ask...” And Jongdae’s smile softens. He drags his legs up to his chest, crosses them. He rests his knee as he regards Sehun. He’s wearing a loose tank, sweat pants. Fabric strains, pools, revealing skin as he shifts easily. And Sehun has bitten down on those biceps to smother his sobs, his moans, his pleas for more. Has braced himself on that sternum. Sucked his way across that jawline. On multiple occasions. Sehun blinks.

“Right now?”

“No, later. Next time, I’ve been watching, and I think…” He’s dropped his gaze, but he can feel Jongdae’s eyes on him, squirms slightly under his scrutiny. “Sit on my face?”

Sehun looks up then, meets Jongdae’s eyes. And they’ve done it the other way, hinted at it, Jongdae’s fingers, tongue to bold, questing, wandering during blowjobs in the shower, prep after practice. But never, never fully.

“As a precursor to you fucking me?” Jongdae arches a brow. “That’s for special occasions, Sehun.”

“No,” Sehun manages, looking away again, down at his hands. “Just that. I want just that. It’s...I’ve wanted for a while. I’m not joking,” he says.

And Jongdae laughs. Braying and ugly and real, only the slightest bit dismissive. Sehun’s head is dizzy, throat tight. “Me either.”

“I just...I just want to open you up,” Sehun whispers, popping his lips, lidding his eyes. Because Jongdae makes a point of ruining him often, but Sehun has learn how to ruin in turn, too, how to provoke. “Fuck you with my tongue.”

Jongdae doesn’t speak for a while. Just watches him. And Sehun watches the play of shadows across Jongdae’s throat as he swallows. Thick, slow. He’s so beautiful.

“But I’ve never,” Sehun continues.

“ _Me either_ ,” Jongdae smiles.

His voice is deep, affected, but his eyes are soft. And he’s easy to fall into. Safe. Fond. There’s a heady sort of approval when Jongdae arranges a date, Saturday night, after they shower.

 

Sehun thrums with anticipation. Borrows Jongin’s laptop another 4 times.

 

Saturday night, after dinner, during the shower, Sehun jerks himself off. To take the edge off, to the image of Jongdae writhing on top of him. Sehun’s head crashes against the tiled wall when he comes, tongue curling around Jongdae’s name. He brushes his teeth, moisturizes, dresses, then he’s being beckoned into Jongdae’s room with a cheesy curl of his fingers, an unnecessarily loud “Sehun, please come here.” Sehun stumbles inside, stops to lock the door, and Jongdae is already in bed. His own, naked save for a pair of gray boxer briefs. Sehun peels of his shirt, his pants, falls on top of him. Jongdae cushions his fall, twists his hands into Sehun’s dyed hair to drag his mouth to his.

Sehun grinds down into him, already halfhard, pants into his mouth. He tries to pour his gratitude, his need into the kiss, and Jongdae responds in kind. They kiss long enough for Jongdae to be releasing the softest, whiniest sounds into Sehun’s pliant mouth, long enough for his hands to be tracing hot and possessive over the planes of Sehun’s shoulders, his back.

Jongdae hooks his leg around Sehun’s waist, flips them over, and Sehun kicks off his boxers, gasps into his mouth as Jongdae’s hand curls around his waist, tilts him up to tug him even closer. It becomes dirtier, then, harder, and Jongdae’s clothes erection drags against his heaving stomach. “Hyung,” Sehun whines between pants, baring his throat as Jongdae pauses from where he’s shifted to kiss down Sehun’s neck. “Hyung, please. Sit on my face,” he reminds him. ”

Jongdae exhales shakily, spares one long lingering suck to Sehun’s collarbone. He peels off his boxers, bends his knees, slides up Sehun’s body until he’s sitting on his chest.

And he’s warm. Smells like almond body wash, powdery like lotion underneath that. His skin is soft from the shower, but taut, straining as he glides up, golden thighs tense against Sehun’s ribs. He’s a solid weight, a solid anchor. Strong, muscled, though compact, skin still smooth, soft, to the touch. He’s beautiful and solid and firm, everything Sehun wants, dark eyes meeting his. Jongdae bites his lip as he regards him. Sehun moans. In encouragement. For good measure.

Jongdae guides Sehun’s hand to his thigh. “Tap me two times if it’s too much, remember.” Sehun nods lazily, slightly dazed. And Jongdae pets back his bangs back, thumb lingering at the corner of his eyebrow. “I’m serious, I don’t want to hurt you.” His fingers whisper over Sehun’s eyelids, and Sehun’s eyes flutter shut.

“I know,” he responds.

“Look at me,” Jongdae says, and Sehun blinks up at him, groans. “Let me know you’re still here.”

Sehun’s lips part with a soft.“Use me,” he urges, furrowing his brow, licking his lips deliberately. “Use me to make yourself feel good.” And Jongdae laughs. The sound sharper, louder, hotter than usual.

_Use me, but in a way that lets me know I’m all you want._ Because Jongdae is hard to arrest sometimes, hard to own. And maybe it’s almost love, on Sehun’s part. Maybe he wants it to be almost love on Jongdae’s, too. Maybe, maybe this is a substitution, an allowance.

“Use me, hyung,” he repeats.

“You don’t know how hot that is,” Jongdae breathes. “You have no fucking clue.” And Jongdae’s voice is strained, but he’s smiling, shifting, descending. Slow, hesitant.

Sehun scrambles to a more comfortable position as Jongdae braces himself on the headboard. His arms come up, elbows locking around Jongdae’s hips.

“Such a pretty face,” Jongdae praises. “Such a pretty face for me to sit on.” He’s breathy, but not nearly affected enough considering how hard and aching Sehun already is.

And Sehun wants to take him apart, too. Wants him whining high in his throat, sobbing, trembling like he does on those rare occasions when Sehun fucks into him, snapping his hips hard to force more sounds of him.

Sehun locks Jongdae’s hips in place, tilts him up for Sehun’s tongue, and Jongdae lets it happen. Lets Sehun have his control, set the pace. Closing his eyes, Sehun takes his first cursory licks, groans at the musky taste, the sensation.

“Tastes good,” he says. “So good.” And Jongdae laughs.

“Good enough to fuck.”

Sehun chokes on a laugh, huffs out a moan. “Yes.” Against his cheeks, Jongdae’s thighs tremble. Sehun curls upwards again to lick more thoroughly.

And Jongdae reaches down to touch himself. Obvious about it with the way he moans, arches into his own touch. And Sehun can picture it vividly, the way he flicks his wrist, rubs slow and dirty along the head. Always slow, teasing, even with himself. Jongdae curls forward with the filthiest sound. “Baby,” he breathes. “Please let me.”

Sehun looks up through the heaviness of his own eyelashes. To the sleek, straining firmness of Jongdae’s muscles, the arch of his spine. His head falls back against the mattress, and he licks his lips absently. Jongdae’s thighs are still trembling, his eyelids even heavier.

“Let me grind down,” Jongdae rasps. “Let me—touch my thigh, okay.”

Sehun nods, and Jongdae sits more fully.

Sehun moans as Jongdae whimpers, rocks down. Smooth and sinful, liquid dips and grinds. Puckered flesh catches on Sehun’s tongue, twitches against his lips. He relishes in every helpless flutter as he smooths his licks, makes broader, wetter, more succulent.

And Jongdae grinds forward and back, voice pitched high. Sehun becomes sloppier, hard jabs, questing, twisting. He mouths at Jongdae’s rim until it gives way enough for him to press inside. He licks his way further inside, with the quiet desperation of a man in love. Jondae chokes out a sob.

“Tell me how you’re feeling,” he manages, his rhythm sloppier. “What’s it like—ah—eating me out?”

Mindless, suffocating, Jongdae is all he knows. And he taps thrice, and Jongdae pulls back, shifts to sit on his chest. Sehun follows him with his tongue, chasing the heady, musky taste. Jongdae bends his knees, spreads his leg, ass plush against Sehun’s chest.

“Keep going,” Jongdae encourages. His legs kick against the headboard, and his head crashes back against Sehun’s bent thigh as he Sehun sits up. He hooks Jongdae’s thighs around his shoulders, drags him to his mouth. And Jongdae jerks back with a filthy moan. ‘Yes,” he pants. “Yes.”

From this angle, Sehun can actually appreciate the sight, see the quiver that accompanies every sweep of his tongue, every fuck inside. He moans into him, as Jongdae writhes back.

“I want to,” Jongdae moans, and the world is shifting, as Jongdae moves, turns on top of him.

Then Sehun’s moaning for a different reason, gasping in between long drags of his tongue as Jongdae tugs on his cock. Sucks him into his mouth.

And Sehun wishes his tongue could be in two places. In Jongdae’s ass. On his cock. In his mouth, too. Three places, he reasons, pausing to spread Jongdae’s cheeks further. Jongdae jerks on top of him, rhythm lost as he drags out Sehun’s name in the most broken whimper.

“Sehunnie,” he whines, praises. “Harder,” he says, voice slick, wrecked, filtering between slick, sloppy slurps, and Sehun easily complies. Jongdae rewards him with sloppier bobs. Harder, faster, clumsy but perfect. Sehun trembles from exertion, in concentration.

“Sit again,” Sehun says. Jongdae moans. Scrambles to comply. He cards his fingers through his hair. And then he lifts again, drops again.

Fingernails scraping against the wall, Jongdae whimpers. “Fuck, Sehun. _Fuck_.”

Jongdae groans. All the smoothness is gone. He’s all stutterfucks now, the most erratic bucks, mindless declarations, praises falling from his lips. Each broken moan only serves to leave Sehun harder, more desperate.

“Fuck me,” he chants. “Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me.” But then “Don’t stop” when Sehun makes to move. “No, don’t stop. Keep going, please.Fuck me—ah, _right there_ —with your tongue.” Jongdae’s voice is so breathy, so hitch pitched, that Sehun can barely hear him over the pounding in his own ears.

“Faster, “ Jongdae groans, and Sehun nods dazedly, quickens his pace. He hardens his tongue, fucks it faster inside, and Jongdae collapses forward, one arm still braced on Sehun’s shoulder, hard and almost a painful as he jerks suddenly. Sehun fucks his tongue further inside, groans as Jongdae clenches around him, keening as he comes. Oh, Sehun realizes, with a painful jolt of arousal. His arms come up to squeeze around Jongdae’s hips, hold him steady as he licks him through it. Until he can’t any longer.

Sehun taps his thigh, and Jongdae falls back again. Enough to bend forward and kiss Sehun almost fiercely, managing to whisper between affectionate nips just how amazing he thinks Sehun is. how. And then he’s gliding down Sehun’s body, taking him between his lips once more.

Sehun pulses in his mouth, bucks upward helplessly into the slick, wet, warmth. It’s instant, glorious, unrelenting, almost aching in its perfection. Pleasure skitters quickly along his overheated skin, and Sehun pinches his own nipples, lets one hand fall on Jongdae’s head, threading through his hair.

Kitten lips press flush to the base of his erection, tickle against his hypersensitive, trembling skin. Bad for his voice, Sehun registers, as every single muscle locks up, tenses with exertion, with pleasure. He comes with a helpless, drawn out “hyung.” And Sehun watches Jongdae’s throat work again as Jongdae swallows, pulls back. He’s smiling, smirking, sliding up to lay beside him on the bed.

And there’s softness, tenderness. Jongdae cradles his face, nuzzles lazy smiles into his chest. “Stay in my room. Stay with me,” Jongdae says, and Sehun’s head lolls lazily to the side.

“What about—”

“Fuck everybody else,” Jongdae responds, the words warm and wet against Sehun’s throat. “Fuck everybody but you. Stay with me. You’ve more than earned it.”


End file.
